Wishing For Silence
by Rehgai
Summary: Warrick Brown lets the blows fly, in beat with the music ringing through his head phones, but, no matter how loud he turns the volume up, he can still hear Greg struggling to breathe.. WARNING- CHARACTER DEATH, 4th part in Why? Series, BUT CAN STAND ALONE


**Title- Wishing For Silence**

**Warnings- Greggo's Death, but, if you read the other three, you'd figure it out by now. These stories are gonna get darker, so, beware.**

**Summary- Warrick Brown lets the blows fly, in beat with the music ringing through his head phones, but, no matter how loud he turns the volume up, the man can still hear Greg struggling to breathe.. WARNING- CHARACTER DEATH, Companion to Not What He Expected, Losing a Son, and Getting Clean, BUT CAN STAND ALONE!**

**Disclaimer- Like I said, if I owned this show, Greg would die frequently, only to return the next week. Not good for a story that tries to be realistic.**

**A/N- 668 readers for all 3 stories… I FEEL ALL BUBBLY INSIDE! Sadly, the next three stories are gonna have HOW Greg died in it. This one is the last one I know for sure will go with the 'Not What He Expected' flow, but I hope you all enjoy them all the same. BTW- THE LAST STORY, #6, IS A TWO PART STORY! The main character will be a surprise, but I'm sure you can guess who it will be. This story was held up due to technical issues, but no worries- Hope most of you were waiting with Bated Breath! Thank you, Kittyluv, for betaing, like usual. Though, she did say she cried, so her vision might have blurred any mistakes. **

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The pounding of the fists matched the insane beat vibrating out of a set of head phones covering the man in the corner's ears. The others in the gym avoided him, not because of his skin, but because of the dark, possessed look in his eyes, and the fury he was going after that punching bag. It was unhealthy, but it looked like he needed to relieve some stress, so the patrons let him be, figuring it was safer for everyone that he dealt with his rage here where the worst that could happen was damaged equipment. If he was outside, he might pick a fight, and get arrested, or, kill the poor sap that bothered him.

Warrick Brown was trying not to let his mind rest, focusing on dealing blows to a mystery(he had long hair, pulled into a pony tail, and was no longer smirking, but looking scared under the reign of Warrick's fists) man, refusing to even think about (the blood, so much blood, how can he still be trying to live with so much blood outside the body?) anything, absolutely nothing. Still, the memories worked their way into his work out, making the blows come harder, the tempo picking up, trying to move faster than his mind. It was working.. barely.

Suddenly, a blow, poorly aimed, set Warrick off his pacing, and the dark haired man suddenly realized just how tired, how dry mouth he was. Settling down on a bench, Warrick grabbed his water bottle, thankful he had thought ahead, and took a sip. Sadly, while he was unwinding, the images came unwanted. The dark man clenched his green eyes, trying to ward off those images, but was greeted with the damn noise.

Relenting, Warrick stood, and took position in front of his new friend (He didn't know the bastards name, but, god, how he hoped it was on the list for those going to hell. It had to be, after what he did..) and started another round, but this was more controlled, better paced. As he punched, he remembered all the times he wished Greg had been quiet.

When he was back at the lab, how he'd wish the man would just give him the results.

Not play 20 Q, or make it difficult for any straight answers.

When they were working on a case, he wished for peace and quiet,

Not loud music beating through the hallways,

When they needed evidence in a hurry, they expected it done.

Not Greg talk though it all, or even use it for his own entertainment.

When a CSI was stressed, they expected to be left alone.

Not have Greg make a random comment that not only got them angrier, but had them yell at the man.

Of course, Warrick knew he was being extremely harsh on Greg (his memory, because Doc Robbins was currently doing an autopsy to find out WHAT killed Greg), and, he thought about all the times Greg was quiet when Warrick wished he would talk. Slowly, tears blurred his vision as he recalled them all.

After Grissom found that child so many years ago, he thought Greg would make an offbeat comment to make everyone laugh,

Not hide in his lab, running the samples and handing them over quietly.

After leaving work one day with Catherine, he expected a normal work day,

Not have Greg blown through the wall, and fall unconscious.

After visiting him in the hospital, he thought the lab rat would have so many comments, so many jokes.

Not have his voice weak and quiet, and answered their questions without a single joke.

After becoming a CSI, he would stay the same.

Not become quiet, and recluse.

After saving a man's life, Warrick thought Greg should be proud,

Not blame himself for that accident.

Warrick paused in his work out, soon collapsing against the bag. He hugged it close, resting his head on it as he thought about the one time he wished for Greg to be silent, only, once his wish was granted, he would have done anything to hear Greg one last time.

Warrick remembered, driving Sara to their scene, what appeared to be a murder suicide, when the officer there suddenly said a CSI had been injured at a scene 5 miles away, heard it over the radio. Instantly, they were in the vehicle, thinking it was Catherine, or Grissom, but Warrick knew Nick's car instantly. How could that be? It was a B and E, Breaking and Entering…

He remembered sitting there shocked as Sara bolted. Warrick shook himself, and followed, actually running into the brunette, nearly tripping over her. She had been kneeling at the entrance, an odd place to kneel, until the smell, coppery and wrong, hit him, and he felt his own knees start to buckle. There, sitting at the base of the stairs, was Nick Stokes, which wasn't all that shocking except for the fact that in his arms (shaking arms, Nick had been shaking that day) was Greg Sanders. A cloth was wrapped around his neck, but it was already tainted red, and, slowly spreading from him, there was blood, so much blood.

As he stood there, Greg struggled to breath, a weird, gasping sound that reminded Warrick of someone drowning. Gurgling. And, for some ungodly reason, all he could do was wish that Greg wasn't gasping like that. Wishing the other wouldn't make those noises. Wishing for silence.

And then, Greg grew quiet, and Warrick suddenly found himself wishing for the gurgling, because that meant Greg was still trying to breathe, still fighting it. Now, there was just silence.

And that was the most powerful noise.

In a quiet gym situated near the outside of Las Vegas, a man held a punching bag as broke down, sobbing, mourning the loss of a man who fought so hard, and lost in the end. And Warrick mourned the silence that Greg Sanders once filled.

Fin


End file.
